


Dennis Day

by singingtomysoul



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Mental Health Issues, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingtomysoul/pseuds/singingtomysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"When it was Dennis’s day, did I complain about tying slipknots until my hands were bloody? I mean, what did he need all that rope for? I don’t know. I didn’t ask, because it was his day."</i>
</p><p>Expanded from a deleted line in Season 9. Dennis ties his friends into knots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dennis Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



He watches them tie the knots, standing guard with an air of authority. Distant, calm, like a monarch on a throne. The neutrality is important; for the full experience, his voice can’t be flecked with anger or frustration. It’s simply there. Unmovable. A vast ocean.

"Again."

They all groan collectively, then swallow it just as fast. Mac’s the one to break this time, hurling his rope to the floor. “Seriously? Dude, seriously, we’re -“

Charlie clamps a hand over his mouth, practically mashing it against his teeth. “Don’t listen to that. We’re just, y’know, how much rope do you own, dude?”

"I’ll tell you when you’re done," Dennis says, flicking his hand dismissively. "Again."

Cross. Loop. Pull. Twist.

"I don’t know, I find it soothing," Charlie says, finishing off another slipknot with a careful twist. "Like cleaning a floor, like I can make this knot the best murder knot ever. I can do murder better than all of you guys."

"Who said anything about - holy shit, dude, your hands!"

Mac is gaping, but Charlie just flicks the droplets of blood away, not even flinching as the rope scrapes over a blister. “Oh, this? No, I’m used to this. I don’t have your soft bartender hands, dude, I work hard.”

"We all work hard," Mac snaps. "You’re going to give everyone a disease."

"Dude, your hands have been bloody for like fifteen minutes."

"Done!" Dee slams her slipknot down triumphantly, throwing her hands up in a victory pose. "While you boners were gabbing about a little blood, I was busy beating my time. Six seconds." She beams up at Dennis like a puppy looking for a treat.

Sometimes it’s too easy.

Dennis picks up the rope to inspect, eyeing it carefully. “Hmm. See, I’d congratulate you, Dee, but you did the loop a little too wide over here. It could take too long to pull taut, and then where would I be?”

"Hey no, wait." Dee narrows her eyes. "Last time you said it was too narrow."

"You’ve overcorrected. It’s a classic mistake, but you get the same result. Not good enough."

"Maybe if my hands weren’t blistered and sweating!" A whine starts rising into Dee’s voice. "Goddamnit, Dennis, I’m-"

"Do I hear complaining? Do I hear the sound of a complaint on Dennis Day?"

Dee shuts her mouth so fast her teeth click. She glares up at him, hot enough that she might burn a hole through him. If he were a normal man.

"Also," he adds, just to twist the knife. "The rope is frayed on the end."

"It’s-!" Dee swallows a scream; he can practically see it traveling back down her throat. "The rope came that way! The stupid piece of rope that you put in my hands!"

"You’re supposed to find structural weaknesses, Dee," he lectures. Smooth, implacable. A fixed point. "You’re supposed to root them out. Eradicate them. Not make them part of the final package. And that’s why you’ve only ever been average." He pauses, for effect. "Perfection is an art. It’s something you work for. Something you BLEED for."

Dee grabs the pillow, and screams into it until she’s hoarse.

He’d read about this once. Kubrick on the set of The Shining. He’d told his lead actress to repeat a simple take - to cross the room, and open a door. And then he’d say, not quite. Let’s do it again.

A few steps, and the opening of a door. For hours into the evening. Until nerves were frayed to shreds and pupils were blown with exhaustion, and then when he unleashed the horror scenes on her, she’d scream and scream.

Maybe if he were a creative person he’d have found an outlet for it. For this thing in him. But probably not.

"Quit your whining," Frank mutters, distracting himself. His own rope falls apart in his lap. "Eventually he’ll get bored, move us on to something else. Your mom used to play this game with you kids all the time."

If Dennis were being honest, Frank’s slipknots were be far inferior to Dee’s. Thick, clumsy fingers, a distractable mind. No finesse. But Frank doesn’t care about other people’s opinions, just if they give him orders. His time will come at lunch, when Dennis cuts their portions down to thirds. Charlie will suffer the most during grooming - three showers, colognes, a suit that fits too tight against his skin. A skin regiment that takes hours.

He’s looking forward to Mac’s the most. He has twenty years of learning to push those buttons, to work his roommate into a frenzy. And then he’ll make him swallow every drop. Stuff that anger down deep, buried inside where no one can find it. ‘I know you can do that,’ he’ll say, ‘I see you do it every day. For all the stupid shit that isn’t really important.’

But this, this will be important. And if anyone should see that rage Mac takes for granted, if anyone were able to tell, the whole day begins again.

"Again."

A vast, yawning darkness. Unmoved. Forever displeased. ‘You can still do it better,’ it says. ‘You can still do more. I’m not satisfied, yet. Someday. Not yet.’

"You want to get closer to me, don’t you?" Dennis says. "Keep tying. I have plenty of rope."


End file.
